My personal introduction to the place was back in late 1996, shortly after
I'd moved in with my cousin, Faizi. Faizi was an aspiring artist and at the
time he was doing a joint art show with another person (whom I later ended up
dating- and later learned that you never date Cafe Coco people, otherwise known as CocoNuts). From the first time I stepped into the place, I liked it. Quiet jazz
was playing on the speakers that had been discretly placed throughout the shop,
people were standing around and smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, others
were sitting at coffee tables and enjoying idle conversation or playing chess...
it was like... I'd found a home, a place to belong. If you had thirty
piercings, wore multi-colored clothing and tattoos were proudly shown all over
your body, the most you'd get was a quick glance from a stranger, but mostly
everyone there was accepted (or tolerated at the very least). Conversely, if
you were a student with books to read, it's an implied and unwritten rule that
you be left alone to do your thing. "Live and let live" should be
the motto of Café Coco.

Since then I've been hanging out at Café Coco almost religiously (close
to 5 nights a week). For the first year I sat back and just watched people,
listening to various conversations and making note of the "regulars"
who seemed to have free run there. I was a recognizeable face, but no one seemed
to know my name or why I was there... but no one bothered me, either, which was
nice. Sometimes I'd bring a notepad with me and write on a story or enjoy the
company of a friend, but I rarely said or did anything to bring attention to
myself. It was my place to be "away."

Things have changed, though. People know who I am, they know my name and
face as well as they know their own family members. And some people there treat
each other likefamily members. Occasionally there's a squabble or
two, what we call "drama", or even some pretty nasty arguments...
but it's a very, very odd thing to see actual fights or disunity there. Awnings
have been put up, benches installed, the smoking section has been moved and reduced
a 10x10 room, the back porch is open once again... and the name's been changed
more times than I've changed my own name over the years. But through it all,
people have stuck, customers continue to come in and pay $1.40 for the first cup
o' joe and 60¢ for a refill.

In my day, Cafe Coco was Cafe Elliston but we called it "Ellistonia.” Quite often it was known by its true name "The Vortex." That, of course, was before the reign of Coco. Before we were Coco-dependent, we lived in Chuck Cinelli's odd but exciting world. The glory days – ladies and gentlemen. One could wander from room to room, from ratty couch to broken chair with a clove in one hand and a beer in the other. Greg Garing and Paul Deacon (of the Mavericks) lived upstairs and beautiful unearthly bluegrass and western music could be heard floating down from the back porch on the more peaceful nights. (And yes, the smell of grass wafting through the windows as well.) I would go every night around 8. Back in those days the regular bar tenders were Ashton and Randy. Those two were great. Before the bar had become all filled with muffins and cookies and fancy tea, you could actually pull up a bar stool, light a smoke and talk to the other regulars right there. I had my own stool and my own mug. They used to let you keep your own mug there.

Such a parade of interesting people! Actors, photographers, gardeners, healers, psychics,comic book illustrators, teachers, students, psychos, dancers, politicians – all with one thing in common – broke. Almost no one with money was a true regular. Sure – people might stop in to see how the simple freaks lived from time to time – but it was a place to spend 2 bucks on coffee and make it last the night and then drive home in your crappy piece of automobile on an empty tank of gas before the sun rose. My parents hated it. ‘Nuff said.

My younger brothers hang out there now. I go back from time to time when I am in town. It has changed too much for me. The front yard is gone – the smokers are all crammed in one little room. The women’s lounge was destroyed for a bigger kitchen. I still see Tiwana – the resident cop. Ray still runs around – it’s always good to see the Fabulous Ray. But the rooms are filled with strangers who are quite happy in their world of Coco. Not knowing what a fantastic and free environment had been there before. Marriage changes everything doesn’t it, Chuck?